


my twisted knife, my sleepless night, my win-less fight

by butmomilovemyboys



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Whump, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27952658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butmomilovemyboys/pseuds/butmomilovemyboys
Summary: “Reid,” Hotch says as the younger man stands. “You sure you’re alright?”Reid looks at him like he was speaking a different language. “Yes. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”“Because I don’t believe you are,” says Hotch, grabbing his arm when he tries to walk away. “I won’t press you on it, but you don’t have to have anything from us.”Reid pulls his arm out sharply. “I can take care of myself.” As harsh as it is, he deflates and looks back up at Hotch after a second. “Sorry. I’m-I’m okay.”
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 9
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i am back at it with the criminal minds bs. yes this is the second fanfic in a row with a folklore lyric. i am only human! imma say this takes place beginning of s6 but it really doesn't matter. i also like, forgot to write anything about rossi oops. so i wrote in some random line about him being away.

As they arrive back at the bullpen, it’s clear to Hotch that Reid is off. Not that he was ever  _ really  _ hundred percent-- it was painfully obvious to anyone who saw him that he probably hadn’t gotten a natural eight hours of sleep in a very long time-- but right now he looks like he’d fall right over if you so much as poked him. They had just arrived back from a pretty grueling case, and everyone was exhausted, but Reid seems to be taking it harder. His usual eye bags seem somehow darker, his clothes were a bit disheveled, and he looks a bit green around the gills. He wraps his jacket tightly around him as he walks to his desk, and it stays that way as he sits, as if he was cold. Hotch notes the silent conversations between the team as they see him, most noticeably between Prentiss and JJ, who scowl and eye Reid up and down. 

“Spence,” he hears JJ say. “You okay?” 

He blinks up at her. “Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m good.” 

“You don’t look it,” she replies. “Did something happen?” 

He knows what she’s talking about. When they finally found the unsub--a squirrely and awkward man who had somehow managed to mutilate three women--it was Reid who got there first. It was a good ten minutes that Reid had to hold him off until the rest of the team arrived. Hotch wasn’t sure that anything had happened within those few minutes, but maybe something had. 

“No,” Reid was quick to say, although something about his demeanor betrays him. “I’m okay.”

JJ didn’t seem convinced. “Whatever you say. But you know I know when you’re lying.” 

“Really? How so?” 

JJ shrugs. “It’s a mother thing.” 

“Well, I’m fine,” Reid says. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“You say that like it’s easy,” Emily chimes in, giving him a smirk. Reid smiles back, but it’s clearly forced. Hotch wants to ask--Hotch  _ should  _ ask-- but he knows Reid, and he knows he doesn’t like it when they dote on him so much. And although he doesn’t look great, Hotch supposes that as long as he’s upright and talking, whatever was wrong certainly wasn’t  _ that  _ bad. With Rossi out on a personal case, Hotch didn’t really want to have to bench another teammate if he didn’t have to. 

Emily and JJ back off, but they share knowing looks as they finish up their paperwork. Hotch watches as Reid flips through files, his eyes not really focusing on much. He seems to be in his own head, a bit spaced out. At one point, Hotch sees him reach out for a pen, only to misinterpret the distance and knock over the papers he had only just stacked. He didn’t seem to be bothered by it, but he exasperatedly bent to pick them up and winced as he did so. He looks back up and meets Hotch’s eyes. 

There’s something there, Hotch notices it immediately. He knows that Reid is saying  _ I’m okay, stop worrying  _ with his face, but  _ something’s wrong and you and I both know it  _ with his eyes, but neither or them are going to address it. As worried as he is, it might not be worth it to press him. He could just be having an off day. 

Something in his gut tells him that’s not true. He ignores it. He shouldn’t. 

“Good work everyone,” he says, and they look up at him with tired smiles. “Take it easy tomorrow. If you get here a bit late, I won’t hold it against you.” 

“I’ll bring donuts!” Garcia chimes, her voice chipper despite how tired her face looks. 

That gets Reid brief attention. “Chocolate frosted with sprinkles?” 

Penelope gives him a smile. “One chocolate frosted with sprinkles for the boy genius over here. Any other requests?”

“God, any food sounds good right now. Surprise me,” says Emily, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “And maybe bring me more than one.”

“Will do.” 

They all pick up, submit their papers, and pack their bags within moments of the other, leaving until it’s just a very tired Hotch and a very exhausted looking Reid in the bullpen. 

“Reid,” Hotch says as the younger man stands. “You sure you’re alright?”

Reid looks at him like he was speaking a different language.  _ “Yes.  _ Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because I don’t believe you are,” says Hotch, grabbing his arm when he tries to walk away. “I won’t press you on it, but you don’t have to have anything from us.” 

Reid pulls his arm out sharply. “I can take care of myself.” As harsh as it is, he deflates and looks back up at Hotch after a second. “Sorry. I’m-I’m okay.” 

Hotch’s lips made a thin line. “Just take it easy.”

“I will.” 

“Reid,” he tries one more time. “No one thinks you’re incapable of taking care of yourself.” 

Reid stares at the ground before mumbling, “Have a good night, Hotch.” He walks out of the bullpen swiftly, not even bothering to say anything to the rest of the team as they crowd the elevator. He takes a quick look at them before booking it down the hall.

“What is his problem?” Morgan asks as Hotch enters the elevator with them. 

“Might be a pride thing,” Emily supplies. “Maybe the unsub touched a nerve.” 

“Maybe…” JJ shrugs. “I just think he’s off tonight.” 

Hotch nods. “We’ll find out in the morning.” 

He doesn’t really believe that. But with things like this, sometimes he has to convince himself so that he doesn’t spiral. Logically, he knows that if anything  _ was  _ wrong, Reid would be smart about it. 

(Or if he wasn’t being smart about it, perhaps it was because he wasn’t thinking clearly.)

Hotch feels his body shudder at the thought, but tries to void his mind of it. That is until his gut pinches, and suddenly he thinks maybe he should go back after him. He’s just about to hold the elevator door open to leave when Morgan says, “Aw, damn. I left my phone at my desk.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hotch is quick to say, stepping out of the elevator after. “I don’t feel right about leaving Reid alone.”

JJ looks like she was a bit more relieved. “Yeah, check on him, will you? You know how he is.”

“Unfortunately,” he says with a rare smirk. “You all go and get some rest.” The ladies disappeared behind the steel doors with tired smiles. 

He walks with Morgan to the bullpen, looking for any sign of the kid. Morgan must sense something off too, because in the quiet, he says, “This doesn’t feel right.”

“No,” Hotch agrees, “and I’m getting a bit worried.”

They pick up their pace in the direction Reid went, their footsteps echoing against the linoleum hallway. 

Every evil thought pokes at Hotch’s mind, a feeling he often occasiates with his worry for Jack. He tries to calm himself down, tries to think logically, but for some reason he can’t. 

So it’s a large relief to him when they find Reid upright and standing, walking out of the bathroom as if nothing happened. Well, almost. He looks in worse shape than before, and Hotch can see the pain in his eyes. 

“I thought you guys left,” he says, his voice rough. 

Hotch feels slightly embarrassed. “We were leaving. We just--”

“Is that blood?” Morgan interrupts him, his eyes wide and pointing at Reid’s side. 

Hotch’s eyes follow as the fear invades his mind again. Reid slowly pulls back his jacket, revealing the pretty nasty scene. 

His white button up was stained red, so soaked it stuck to his skin. Reid reaches down to touch it, seemingly not surprised by the amount of  _ red  _ coming out of him. They all stand silently, as if no one quite knows what to do, until Spencer looks off into the distance, gasps a bit, and loses his balance.

“Um, Hotch...I-” His feet stumble underneath him, he blinks, and suddenly he’s falling to the ground. 

“Reid!” Morgan cries, running the few feet towards the younger man in an attempt to catch him. Hotch is just a second after him, but he knows neither are going to make it in time to grab him. He’s right, as Spencer lands ungracefully on his back, starfished against the white floor. They each take a side, with Hotch quickly trying to stop the blood flow and Morgan trying to shake Reid back awake. 

“Reid? Reid!” he says. “C’mon, pretty boy, wake up.”

“He’s losing too much blood,” Hotch unhelpfully supplies. “We need to get him to hospital--an ambulance, something.”

“I’ll grab the others,” Derek decides, booking it towards the stairs, not even realizing the bloodstain footsteps he leaves behind him. 

“Reid, can you hear me?” he tries, putting pressure on the wound. “Reid!” 

Reid doesn’t respond, but Hotch watches as his chest shallowly rises. He can’t stop the blood-- it comes out too fast and too much. It starts to cover his hands entirely, to the point where he can barely see his own skin. In response, Hotch rips one side of Reid’s shirt, not even noticing the buttons that spring off and hit the wall. When he looks at the wound, it’s red and ugly there too. Definitely a stab wound, he decides. His efforts to keep the blood flow steady stay futile. He throws off his suit jacket swiftly in order to try and press it against the wound, but when that doesn’t work either, his insides start to feel hollow. There’s haphazardly cut pieces of soaked gauze that fell out when the shirt was ripped, a clear sign that Spencer had tried to dress this wound himself, to no avail. Hotch curses under his breath, partly in anger at himself, and partly anger towards Reid. It dissipates almost as quickly as it comes though, as he can’t help but look at the young man’s glistening face and feel pangs of sympathy. 

“Reid,  _ please,”  _ he tries again, shaking his shoulder with a bloody hand. “You can do it, c’mon.” Reid doesn’t do “it.” He doesn’t do anything. He’s as still as can be. 

A voice in the back of Hotch’s head says he’s staring at a bloodied corpse. 

He immediately shoves the voice in a box in his mind and crushes it.

Before he can delve deeper into his fears, he hears the rapid tapping of Garcia’s high heels make their way towards him, and it’s soon followed by a sharp gasp and a strangled cry of something he can’t really make out. 

“Oh my god--oh my god!” JJ sounds like she could scream, and is suddenly beside Hotch, holding Spencer’s head in her hands. “Spence? Please-- _ jesus!”  _ The blood is overwhelming, if Hotch is honest. Emily is on the other side with Morgan, while Garcia speaks in half-sobs on the phone to what he assumes is 9-1-1, and while they’re all a good distraction from the fact that about a minute ago he was sure Spencer was dead, it does not distract from the fact he is still bleeding out right under him. 

“What happened? What…” Prentiss speaks in a broken tone, bewildered at the sight in front of her. “Did the unsub do this?” 

“Why would he if his endgame were those girls, not us?” Morgan asks, shaking his head. 

“He must have,” Hotch mumbles. “He killed those women without breaking a sweat--he was a sociopath with a weapon. He would have done anything to get his way. If there was only one FBI agent--Reid, for that matter-- I would think I got away with it too.”

He’s not trying to take shots at Reid, but facts were facts. Reid was young and scrawny; it would not have been entirely too difficult to shank him. 

“So why didn’t he shoot?” JJ says, her voice thick. “Why?”

“I don’t know-- maybe he didn’t have a good aim or maybe it all happened too fast-- I don’t  _ know,”  _ Hotch laments. Everyone shuts up right about then, save for Garcia’s shallow sobs. Spencer does not move or make any notion of being aware once, but Hotch keeps his red fingers placed firmly on his wrist, finding solace in the light, thready pulse and slow rise of his chest. 

In any other moment, any other person, any other time, the scene of all of his agents, hand on hand, keeping their youngest and smartest alive by keeping pressure on the wound, would be paradisiacal to him. But all it feels like is a goodbye. 

His anger keeps getting replaced by fear, fear by guilt, guilt by despair, until finally the paramedics arrive in time before Hotch could explode. 

Reid doesn’t wake up when the paramedics make the agents move and place him on a gurney. He doesn’t wake up as they race him down the stairs, the rest, bloodied, in toe. He doesn’t wake up as Hotch volunteers to ride with them to the hospital, and he does not wake up as they begin to work on him there. 

Hotch grabs his wrist for a pulse again, a small reminder he was alive, and tries to ignore the shouting to go faster and to work harder. 

“Reid, I need you to hang on,” he says in his most matter-of-fact voice. “Please.” His voice then breaks. Whether Reid hears him or not, he’ll never know. 

(Not never, no, not never.)

He repeats that all the way there, and holds Reid’s wrist firmly in his hand. 

Hotch paces in the waiting room. He counts his steps--one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Back and forth. The hospital tiles are just as white as the ones at the office. He can see a bit of his reflection in them. 

The rest of the team doesn’t sit either. They look awful-- their clothes unhinged and bloody, their faces worn and weary. Hotch has every sense to send them home, but a part of him wants them here, for support-- for stability. 

He thinks again of Spencer, his disheveled appearance and hazy eyes. He still believes Reid can take care of himself, that wasn’t this issue. The issue was the way Reid thought that because of that, he didn’t need anyone, and then these things happen. And these things  _ always  _ happen. Perhaps not like this; perhaps not this big, but they do happen. 

He wonders briefly if Spencer thinks it's a sign of weakness, and the thought leads him spiraling into a “am I even a good leader?” mindset. He tries to put that thought in the same crushed box, before he can dive in too deep. He doesn’t have time for that right now. 

“You guys should go home,” he hears himself say, as if far away. “No use for all of us here.”

“I want to stay,” JJ whispers, like she can’t get her voice any louder. 

“What about Henry?” Hotch counters. 

JJ scowls lightly. “What about Jack?”

Hotch realizes she won’t budge, in that moment. None of them would. He feels a bit secretly relieved. 

“All that time after the arrest, the jet, the paperwork…” JJ continues, “and none of us noticed? Aren’t we profilers? Shouldn’t we…”

“He’s a profiler, too,” Emily replies softly, almost like she doesn’t believe in what she says. “He knew how to sneak around us.”

“He might not have been in his right mind, either,” Morgan says. “He lost a lot of blood.” He goes rigid at his own words. 

They fall back into uneasy silence. Time moves weird. Hotch can’t tell what's been two hours or two minutes. He eventually falls back into the uncomfortable chairs, and the sunlight starts picking through the smudged hospital windows. 

Eventually, Morgan leaves first. Penelope follows. Emily squeezes JJ’s hand, and goes. JJ blinks tears at Hotch, and eventually goes, too. Hotch sits in his place and waits. 

“Agent Hotchner?” The voice startles him, but the doctor stands at his side. “You’re for Dr. Reid?” 

“I am,” Hotch nods, his stomach turning and twisting as he stands. “Is he-” He doesn’t finish. He can’t. 

“No,” the doctor is quick to say. She smiles lightly without her teeth. “But I won’t sugar-coat it for you, Mr. Hotchner. He lost a lot of blood. Almost too much. He’s on the mend, but it will not be an easy recovery.” 

“Is he awake?” Hotch asks. 

“Not quite, but you can see him, if you want.” 

“I would,” Hotch suppresses a smile. “I would.” 

She leads him down to Spencer’s room. She motions him in and closes the door on her way out. 

Reid looks alive, and it’s enough for Hotch. The beeping from the machines is soothing, and he watches the young man’s chest rise and fall with ease. Reid doesn’t wake up this time, either. Hotch doesn’t mind this time. 

Parental anger claws at his mind, but he knows it can wait. 

He knows he’ll have to bench Reid for a bit, give him the self-care speech, and keep an eye out for this behavior again. 

But as he sits down next to the kid, the sunrise adding a yellowish glow to the room, he feels alright. He lets himself be happy Spencer’s alive, and for the first time all night, doesn’t feel any conflicting feeling at all.

All there is is comfort, with a side of normalcy, and he exhales in time with the machine and the easy pulse in Spencer’s wrist. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you ask yes the entire beginning part of this chapter is that one scene from the outsiders where ponyboy is sick and soda watches him as he sleeps. i am a whore for the outsiders. which makes the foyet storyline kinda hard to watch. can't believe ponyboy killed haley hotchner. 

He floats in a slow, red haze. 

It doesn’t feel good or bad, just hazy. Somewhere, in the ring of his ears, he hears a rhythmic beeping, and he can feel it start to bring him somewhere, but he pulls back. It seems so much easier to stay where he was. 

But then, faraway, he hears voices as well. They’re words flow together so much that he can’t make out any of what the person is saying, aside from the soft and endearing,  _ “We’re all waiting for you, Reid.” _

He doesn’t know why they are waiting exactly, but something tells him perhaps he should hurry up and let the beeping bring him to them. He takes a deep breath, lets the beeping get louder, and suddenly he’s right behind his eyelids. 

It takes him a while to open his eyes, but with a surprising amount of willpower, he does. 

He feels himself blink three times before he can actually see. Staring down at him was a very tired, yet very relieved looking Hotch, who gave him a rare and light smile. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “There he is.” 

Spencer scrunches his nose. “Hotch.”

“Hi.” 

“Did someone get hurt?” he asks slowly. The real world was just as hazy as the one in his head. 

Hotch’s smile fades. “Yeah, someone got hurt.” 

“Was it me?” 

“Yes,” Hotch replies, nodding. 

Spencer sighs. His head aches. “How much trouble am I in?”

“We can deal with that later, alright?” Hotch says, not meeting his eyes anymore. “Although, I am not happy, Reid.”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. He doesn’t really know what he’s sorry for, though. 

Hotch seems to soften. “I know you are.”

“Are you mad?” Spencer doesn’t have much control over what comes out of his mouth, but he still feels the need to ask. 

“Yes,” Hotch answers, giving him a funny look. “But not just at you. What do you remember?”

He tries to reach back into his mind for something, but comes up empty. It frustrates him. “Nothing. I don’t- I can’t...um…”

“Hey, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Hotch assures him quickly. “Just relax.” 

“I don’t like not knowing things,” Spencer says, blinking away sudden tears. “I don’t feel good.”

“It’s not your fault, Reid. You’ll remember eventually.” Hotch is dressed in his usual suit and tie, but it looks all disheveled and very worn. He absentmindedly places two fingers against the pulse in Spencer’s wrist. His hands are cold. 

“Did they give me--?”

“I didn’t let them.” He is not sure how used to he is to the softness in Hotch’s tone, but he doesn’t mind all that much. It reminds him of the way Gideon used to talk to him after bad days or hard cases. 

“Thank you,” Spencer mumbles. “I hated me then.” 

By “then” he means when he was an addict, a skinny and sweaty shell of himself who only found solace on bathroom floors and the corner of his apartment. His head aches as the memories resurface, and he can feel the tears stream down his face.

“I didn’t hate you,” Hotch replies, keeping his voice steady. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t...I  _ didn’t... _ help more.” 

“I wish you would’ve.” 

“I know.” Hotch looks down at his shoes. The silence becomes sharp, and Hotch must notice because after a minute he says, “You can go back to sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.” His voice again is weirdly parental. It makes Reid a little sad in his chest. 

Spencer realizes just how heavy his eyelids were. “Are you gonna go?”

Hotch shakes his head. “I’m not leaving this time.” 

It takes him a moment to understand what he means, but once he does, he smiles a little bit. The haze is easier to move through, but he falls right back into it. 

  
  


When he wakes up again, he’s still groggy, like he wasn’t all there. Hotch is though, just like he said. From his position, he can see Morgan there, too, handing Hotch a steaming coffee in a paper cup. He barely opens his eyes, so they don’t seem to see him awake, but he doesn’t really feel like talking, anyway. 

“They said it was infected,” Hotch explains to Derek, before taking a long sip of his coffee. “And his shit job trying to fix it himself didn’t help.”

“Ah, kid...” Morgan laments. He looks over towards Spencer, who just slowly blinks at him. “Why is he still so out of it?”

“Pain meds, I’m guessing,” Hotch shrugs. He stares at his paper cup for a few minutes. 

“Hotch,” Morgan says. 

“Hmm?” 

Morgan’s lips make a thin line. “Did they give him any narcotics?” 

“No,” Hotch says adamantly. “I told them not to.”

“How’d you manage that?” Morgan sits down next to Hotch in the other plastic chair. 

“I’m his medical proxy.” Hotch swirls his coffee with one hand and doesn’t look at Morgan. 

Reid cringes internally. When they made that decision, Hotch had promised him he wouldn’t say a word. He wants to say something, to tell him to shut up, but his mouth feels numb and waxy, so he stays silent. He feels his eyelids flutter, like it was getting harder to keep them open. 

“You are?” Morgan asks. 

“It was Gideon before,” Hotch continues. “Reid meant a lot to him. When he disappeared...I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to do.” He can feel Hotch’s eyes on him, but by then, he was already getting tired. Even the little increments of awakeness seem to take everything out of him. 

He continues to swim in the inbetween, letting their voices fade in and out. Nothing feels entirely right-- being awake or falling asleep. He closes his eyes again, and before he knows it, he’s out. 

When he sleeps, he dreams of his mother, on her good days. Days when she would hold his cold hands and read her old books to him with such grace and precision, days where she would seem so  _ good  _ that Spencer would think she was all better. And then she would forget what day it was. 

He dreams of her with her long blonde hair, her soft nightgowns, and her pale hands, like water. She strokes his face and hums Johnny Cash, like she did when he was a child. 

  
  


He wakes up when similarly smooth hands move the hair out of his face. Slowly, he opens his eyes again, this time being stared down by the very delighted face of Penelope Garcia.

“Hey, Spence!” She warmly continues to push his hair back, to which he smiles at. 

“Hey, Garcia,” he mumbles, like he’s a bit drunk. 

Despite her cheerful appearance, he can see the beginning of tears in her eyes. “How’re you feeling?” She stays looking down on him. 

He tries to shift any part of his body, but finds it difficult to move at all, like his limbs aren’t working. “I can’t tell.” 

“You will soon, I think. The doctor said you’re on the mend,” she says. “I think this is the most awake you’ve been since I’ve been here.”

“You’ve been here?” he asks, trying to recall anything helpful. 

“Yeah, we all have,” Penelope replies, looking a little sad. “Hotch has been here the whole time. We just sent him home a few hours ago.”

“How long have I been here?” 

She chews on her lip. “A couple days. Four, I think.” She pulls up the plastic chair Spencer had previously seen Hotch sitting in.

“Hotch has been here with me for four days?” he asks, confused as to why that would be. 

Penelope tilts her head in confusion. “Yeah, boy wonder. JJ and Will have been watching Jack. Morgan basically threw him out.”

“Why?”

“Why was he here?” she echoes. When Spencer nods, she just laughs. “Because he was  _ worried  _ about you, babe. You really scared him.” She fiddles with her hands. 

“I don’t remember much,” he says, still trying to find the lost memories. “I don’t really remember anything. We were leaving...and then it’s all blurry.” 

“Lucky you,” she says, not unkindly. “I’m not sure I can forget.” After a second, her eyes widened. “Sorry, you’re the one in the hospital bed. I’m sure this isn’t fun for you either.” 

“It isn’t. But don’t be sorry,” he replies. 

He watches as her lip quivers. “It was just really scary, you know? JJ and Morgan kept trying to wake you up-- and Hotch was covered in your blood...” 

“...I’m sorry,” he says, this time really meaning it. “Was it really bad?”

“Yes.” She looks away in the distance. “There was a lot of blood. I didn’t know there could be so much blood in a person.” 

“You know, there’s about 10 units of blood in the adult body,” he says, because he can’t help it. He doesn’t really want to think of his own blood, so he spits out the fact at Garcia. He thinks she’ll be upset, but instead, she smiles. 

“Never change, Spencer Reid,” she says, grinning. 

“I don’t think I could if I tried.” 

  
  


Hotch comes back around his last day to take him home. He’s not too keen on it, as he’s not in the mood to get a talking to about his self-care habits, or the lack thereof. He's been awake now for a while, or at least, he tries to stay awake. The pain meds don’t make him very drowsy anymore, but he feels exhausted anyway. He sits dressed in the clothes JJ brought him on the hospital bed, weirdly dreading leaving it behind. Besides the dull ache all around and the itchy bandage on his side, he feels fine, but once he leaves here, he has to enter the real world again. And he’s beginning to hate the real world. 

Hotch stands cross armed in the doorway. “Reid. You ready?”

“Yeah, Hotch,” he mumbles, wincing as he stands up. Hotch helps him up, keeping a tight grip on his arm. 

They check out quickly, and he notes how the lights hurt his eyes. He really wants to go back to sleep. Hotch helps him into the passenger seat, and he tries to ignore the embarrassment that flashes across his face. The drive is very quiet, not too awkward, just quiet, but Reid can feel all the words Hotch is holding back. 

“Just say it,” he blurts out, not really on purpose. 

“Say what?” Hotch replies in monotone. 

Spencer rolls his eyes. “You know  _ what. _ That I was stupid or that I should have said something or...I don’t know.” The words come out fast and bitter. 

“You said it yourself, Reid,” Hotch says after a few beats of silence. “I don’t think I need to tell you anything you don’t already know.” 

“I just don’t want you to think I’m being ignorant,” he admits. “Because I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind that you can,” Hotch begins. “But I think the lines of your self-care and your lack of self-preservation skills are blurring.” He sounds like something is building up, but Spencer presses on anyway.

“What are you talking about?”

Hotch waits a few seconds, like he’s deciding on the right words. “Do you know what state we found you in? Had we not gone back, you would be  _ dead.”  _ Aaron keeps his eyes on the road. Spencer keeps quiet. ““How do I know that this isn’t going to happen again? That we won’t find you dead next time?” When Reid doesn’t answer, he continues. “You  _ don’t _ know. You’re losing sight of the big picture.”

“Save every person we can. I thought that was the goal.”

“That includes you.” Hotch seems to soften. 

Spencer ignores him. “I couldn’t just put my job on hold because I got injured, Hotch. Killers don’t stop, so I neither can I.” It’s a useless argument, he knows that, but it’s true. If he’s benched, if he doesn’t just suck it up, if it doesn’t do it himself, if he distracts his teammates with his problems, the bad guys might get away, and that’s not something he can live with. He starts to spiral as they drive down the highway. 

Hotch is silent for a few moments before he says, “I understand that way you grew up lead you to lead a lifestyle like this—”

“Don’t profile me,” he interrupts bitterly, wanting desperately to sink into the leather seats of the car and  _ not  _ talk about his childhood. 

“Reid, would you just listen to me?” Hotch says exasperatedly. “You want to save everyone you can? Great. But you can’t do that if  _ you  _ are  _ dead.”  _

And then it clicks.  _ Oh.  _ Spencer clamps his mouth shut. 

Hotch continues. “Your father left you, your mother wasn’t healthy enough to take care of you, and so now you feel as though you physically can’t accept help from anyone without feeling like a burden-”

“Hotch-”

“You feel responsible for things you don’t need to because of this, you think if you don’t stop as many criminals as you can that somehow it reflects on your morality, and so you keep these things to yourself and hope for the best.”

“Don’t  _ profile  _ me!” he grips, his voice low but angry. He hates this, this stupid car ride. 

“You can’t do that anymore, do you understand me?” Hotch’s voice is not mean or condescending, but Spencer still flinches at the words. “As your boss and as your  _ friend,  _ I do not want to see you dead. This team needs you alive.” With that, Hotch closes his case with Reid, and merges off the highway. 

Spencer stews in his own self-pity until he finally claws his way out of it, putting his pride on a high self in his mind. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats for the thousandth time this week. It sounds clunky but genuine, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Hotch smirk. 

“No one is going to think you’re incompitent or a bad person for asking for help, you know. It’s not a sign of weakness.” 

“This is all I've ever known,” he admits, vulnerable. “I don’t think I exactly know...how.” 

“We’ll work on it,” Hotch replies. He turns the radio on, and neither one says anything else. They don’t need to. 

Spencer takes Hotch's words, lets them settle in his chest, and makes a silent promise to his teammates to be a tiny bit more open about his life threatening stab wounds. 


End file.
